In The Face of Terror (II)

I no longer had any idea how long we had been driving when we suddenly stopped. One of the men grabbed my arms, shouting impatiently and none too gently dragged me out of the vehicle. I could feel the trail of hot piss flowing over my thighs as they began dragging me along the ground, again. I heard a door swing open just ahead and the floor no longer felt so rough and the voices of my captors seemed to echo as we moved along, as though we were in a corridor.

We stopped moving. I tried to raise my head, to listen, but I was suddenly slammed against a wall.

“Down!” the voice of my captor was a harsh bark.

I instinctively attempted to curl into a fetal position but someone grabbed my hands. Stronger hands stilled my wrists and I felt something extremely sharp cut through the cord that bound them.

“Please”
“Please”
“Please”
I kept muttering this prayer.

There were loud scraping sounds, like objects being moved about hurriedly. I was dragged up to my feet and then shoved down onto something which felt like a wooden chair. My hands were placed on a flat wooden surface, my fingers splayed out.

“Sit up!”

Let me be honest with you, a part of me was more than a little excited at having come this far. “Maybe I could still make the story of the century” I thought. And then they removed the sack cloth from my head.

I found myself staring at a masked man, a slender-bodied guard on each side of him, both heavily armed. The masked man was seated across the small table on which my hands had been placed. In front of him was a hammer, a large suya knife and a digital stopwatch. The man wore green army fatigues, which appeared slightly undersized on his large frame. He was very dark-skinned. His hands were placed on the table in the same manner as mine and they were rough, with chipped nails and callused all over. His eyes, these were tiny slits in the mask, cold and cruel.

“Please I’m a reporter for the ………..”

I never got the chance to finish as I was immediately knocked down by one of the guards standing behind me. My mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. I coughed and spat, as they pulled me back into the chair. I could feel my nose itch from the pain.

“I know who you are.”

The masked man’s voice was calm, very calm. He reached for the stop watch, set the timer, then looked back at me.

“And you have two minutes to convince me to spare your life”

I looked at him in shock.

“I’m a journalist and I, I,….. I’m doing a story on national security.”

I’m glad you’re loving this piece, More-Rain 🙂 Sifon should be putting up the next installment on wednesday; and yeah, he does plan on keeping that heat hot.
Hope you’re enjoying the Eid ul-Fitr holidays already.

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